


Hockey Hoquets

by YeahScience



Series: Penguins Are Playful Creatures [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Crack, Fluff, Hiccups, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-07-13 01:31:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7132658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YeahScience/pseuds/YeahScience
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marc-André Fleury gets the hiccups. Sidney Crosby and Evgeni Malkin come to the rescue!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hockey Hoquets

**Author's Note:**

> This idea just kinda came to me and it made me laugh. Thought you all would like it. :)
> 
> LET'S GO PENS!
> 
> Thanks for reading!

The faceoff was happening in the Penguins’ offensive zone: the Hawks’ defensive. While Corey was occupied with a few solid shots on goal from Evgeni Malkin’s unit, Marc-André Fleury shuffled back and forth in his crease. The puck was deep and the two defensemen were in a good position, so he really had nothing to do. 

First, he dragged his thick skates along the ice and made little piles of snow. When he had three miniscule mountains, he looked back up. Still no breakaways. Then he drew tiny smiley faces in the blue paint with the tip of his skate. Nothing. 

Suddenly, the United Center’s crowd exploded. Fleury snapped his head up and focused at centre ice. Patrick Kane was rocketing down the arena on a breakaway, vibrant red jersey appearing as just a bright blur, like a deep gash on pale skin. The puck was skittering in front of his stick. 

Flower was already in crouch position by the time the star forward crossed the blue line. Both were extremely skilled; as Kaner read Fleury’s every movement, the goalie did the same. Going by the weight the redhead was putting on his right skate, the Penguin predicted he was going to fake right and go for a shot above his shoulder. 

And Fleury was right; he would’ve made the save had his breath not hitched and his body spasmed unexpectedly. Kaner did exactly as predicted, and his wrist shot flew right over his opponent’s glove and into the shelf. 

The goal horn exploded, as did the crowd, and Chelsea Dagger thumped through the arena speakers. Now there was a score on the board: 1-0 Hawks halfway through the first period. Flower pushed the puck out of the net and sighed, but was cut off with another loud hitch in his breath. Niklas Hjalmarsson must’ve heard, because he turned toward the goal and raised his eyebrow.

The ref signaled a TV timeout and Fleury strode over to his team’s bench. “Merde,” he swore in French under his breath. Crosby stood as his goaltender came to an abrupt stop in front of him.

“Flower, what’s up?” Crosby said with concern in his voice. 

“I-“ he paused. “I think I have the hiccups.”

Sidney let his mouth fall open. “Wait, what?”

“Yeah,” the goalie mumbled, taking off some of his equipment. “That’s why Kane scored that goal.” He then gave a small hiccup, covering his mouth with his trapper. The Kid strained as he tried in vain to hide a smile. 

“Du-*hic*-ude,” he whined. “You gotta help me!”

“Hold on a sec, Flower,” Sid smiled widely as he turned to Geno, who was sitting next to him. “Geno, guess what?”

“What?” 

“Flower’s got the hiccups.” 

Geno grinned. “You serious?” When he turned to his teammate, he hiccupped, as if on cue. Malkin snorted with humoured satisfaction. Marc-André merely looked exasperated.

“Come on, guys,” he moaned. The hiccups were hurting his chest. “We got-*hic*-ta do something about this! I don’t want them to score more goals!” Geno exchanged glances with his captain. Then he leaned forward and grabbed his green Gatorade bottle, offering it to Fleury. 

“Here,” he said. “Drink water, will help.” Which Fleury did. All three waiting with bated breath. Five seconds. Then ten. Then… a particularly loud and explosive hiccup. Strike one. Fleury kicked the boards in frustration. 

A linesman skated up to the Pens’ bench. “You better get back in your crease, Fleury,” he warned. “The TV timeout’s about to expire.” The goalie nodded and bit his lip. 

Sid gave his head a quick shake. “Okay,” he clapped his hands together. “Plan B. Hold your breath and count to ten. That’s what I always do, it usually works.”

Flower only made it eight seconds. And groaned. Now things were getting serious. 

“I have idea,” Geno piped up, voice growling deep in his throat. “When I was kid, I use to eat spoonful of sugar.

The netminder hiccupped with deadpan. “Well, sorry to burst your bubble, *hic*, Geno, but I don’t have any sugar lying around.”

“Wait a minute,” Crosby commanded. He raised his hand and flagged down a trainer, who leaned in close to listen to the captain’s request. “Can we get a spoon of protein powder?” 

“Um,” he grumbed. “Just the powder, no water?” Understandable confusion was woven into every crease of his brows. Sid merely gave a thumbs up, and the trainer shuffled away. It was his job, after all. No matter how strange. He reappeared a few seconds with a small spoonful of off-white dust. He gave it to Crosby, who gave it to Fleury, who knocked it back like a shot of vodka. 

The powder mixed with the saliva on the goalie’s tongue, forming a disgusting, viscous paste. He gagged, but managed to choke down most of it, the rest coating his mouth, teeth, and tongue. The powder burned on its way down, exfoliating his throat. The artificial vanilla flavor made his face pucker. It landed in his gut with a solid thump.

Geno leaned forward in anticipation, and was ultimately disappointed when Marc-André lurched from a hiccup. Sid sighed with defeat and collapsed back to the bench. The linesman was looking at them funnily and pointing at his wrist. Corey cocked his head at the other end of the ice, sending glances at his teammates. They were all ready at the circle, loitering and waiting on the competitors’ goalie. 

Who was running out of ideas. 

Until one started forming in his captain’s head. It swirled in sadistic darkness, bringing a mischievous smirk to his lips. This had to work, but he had a feeling it would.

Without warning, Sidney Crosby sprung off of the bench and planted a massive kiss right on his goaltender’s mouth. The Kid wrapped his hands around Flower’s helmet and locked lips with such passion that it left Geno completely and utterly speechless. Or maybe it was just the fact that his two best friends were sucking face. 

Flower was too shocked to pull away or even reciprocate. Instead, Sid peeled his face away from the other guy’s. He was left with his mouth open, quivering in shock, face pale. 

But no hiccups graced those lips, moist from the captain’s spit. Because his plan had worked. 

Fleury beamed and sprinted back to his crease just as the linesman skated up to ask what the holdup was. 

Sid snickered and fiddled with his stick during the whole next play. Geno joined in and they leaned on each other in a laughing fit like schoolgirls.

And then it happened. Geno pulled back and looked at his captain with a mixture of dread, shock, and a sprinkling of amusement. 

Sid clapped his giant gloved hands over his mouth and stared at the alternate with raised eyebrows.

Flower had given him the hiccups.


End file.
